ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG by David A. Gemmell

‘Is that not also a truth?’ asked Shevan. ‘Are we not divinely chosen?’

‘Perhaps,’ agreed Anu. ‘As perhaps the race before us was chosen. I do not know. What is certain is that I am the oldest living man on this world. Next year will be my two thousandth. What do you think of that?’

‘I thank the Source for it, sir.’

Anu shook his head. ‘Sometimes I don’t know whether to thank the Source or curse it.’ Leaning forward he laid the crystals on a narrow desk, where they glittered in the fading light. ‘What do you see?’ he asked the slim younger man.

Shevan moved to a chair opposite the desk and sat down, his blue eyes staring hard at the white, blue and green crystals. ‘I see that the blue is down to less .than half-power, but that the white and green are almost fully charged,’ he said. ‘What should I be seeing, sir?’

‘Lost souls and the mathematics of eternity,’ said Anu, sadly.

‘I do not understand, sir,’ said Shevan. ‘What has mathematics to do with souls?’

‘The universe is based on mathematics,’ answered the old man. ‘Perfection in apparent chaos. But this is no time for lessons, Shevan. Leave me, for I must become young again.’

* * *

Viruk had no doubts concerning the holiness of Questor Anu. The One God had spoken to the man, warning him of the terrors to come. He had preached the word at the Temple in Parapolis. The seventeen-year-old Viruk had watched him being jeered and mocked. When Questor Anu concluded his address and walked back down the temple steps Viruk had run to intercept him.

‘How did he speak to you?’ asked Viruk. Anu had stopped and turned to scrutinize the young man.

‘Through mathematics,’ he said. Viruk had been dis­appointed, for he too had heard the voice of the Source, and he knew it to be soft and sibilant.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

‘Walk with me,’ said Anu, and together they had strolled through the deer park. Anu had explained that ancient records spoke of a great disaster, during which the stars would move in the sky and the sun rise in the west. ‘It is a cycle,’ said Anu. ‘And it will happen again very soon. Some time during the summer. The mathematical formula has taken me two centuries, but I now believe I have calculated the time of the event down to within a few weeks.’

‘If the world is going to topple, then how can you survive?’ asked Viruk.

‘I believe our colony in the far north will escape the worst of the cataclysm. I hope to lead a thousand of our brethren to the sanctuary of the Luan River.’

‘God speaks to me also,’ the young Viruk told him.

‘Then ask him what your course should be.’

‘He doesn’t listen to me,’ said Viruk. ‘He merely tells me to do things. I know nothing of the northern colony. What is there?’

‘Hostile savages. But think carefully before committing yourself. The way will be hard, young man. And, I fear, violent and full of many dangers. We will face attack from tribes, and peril from ferocious animals.’

‘I will come,’ said Viruk instantly.

He had been one of the 200 and, as Anu had pre­dicted, the journey was hazardous. Viruk had enjoyed it immensely. Three times they had been attacked, and on each occasion Viruk had killed many, watching their bodies writhe. He had been disappointed when the attacks ceased. Word moved among the tribes to let the Avatars pass, for they were fearsome warriors and their weapons were terrifying.

They had reached the first of the five cities on the fourteenth day of summer.

Then the world fell, and Questor Anu became the Holy One.

Two prophecies had come true. Questor Anu had predicted the cataclysm, and Viruk learned that the Source was true to his word. For his inner voice had told him that killing would prove the ultimate pleasure. Kill for me, it said, and know joy.

During the past seventy years Viruk had known enor­mous joy. He felt bonded to Questor Anu, for they were both committed to the work of the Supreme Being.